CHAPTER XIX

THE KING’S PEACE

The Act for the Suppression of the Monasteries may be compared to a

stone flung into a pool, where its fall causes first a wave, then circle

beyond circle of ripples, each one fainter than the last. After the wave

of revolt had passed, there followed a succession of conspiracies, none

showing any promise of success, and each giving the King an excuse for

further bloodshed.

Lancashire was not included in Norfolk’s commission, but disturbances

had taken place there which the King was not inclined to overlook.

Towards the end of February 1536–7 he sent down Robert Ratcliff, Earl of

Sussex, as his lieutenant in those parts, jointly with the Earl of

Derby[680]. In January Sussex had married for a second time; the lady

was Mary daughter of Sir John Arundel. “Some are glad of it, and some

sorry, for the gentlewoman’s sake,” wrote John Husee[681].

On 18 February Sussex was preparing to set out for Lancashire[682]. The

instructions provided for himself and his fellow lieutenant were similar

to Norfolk’s. They must administer the oath, first to the gentlemen,

then to the commons. They must seek out the beginners of the

insurrection, and punish all offenders since the pardon. The monks were

to be expelled, their evil lives exposed, and the article in their

favour which had been promised at Doncaster must be explained away. The

Lieutenants were also to reform any pressing grievances as to enclosures

and fines, and to discover the full strength of Lancashire and Cheshire

when mustered[683].

Sussex, with Sir Anthony Fitzherbert, reached Warrington on Monday 26

February. Next day the Earl of Derby and the gentlemen appointed to form

the Lieutenants’ council joined them, together with most of those who

were on the commission of oyer and terminer. The meeting was held at the

Friary, where the new oath was taken, and proclamation was made that all

complaints would be heard. Next day the commons took the oath with great

good will, and on Thursday the Lieutenants went on the same business to

Manchester, whence they would proceed to Preston and Lancaster. A

refugee from Carlisle, who was spreading the rumour about a tax on

ploughs, christenings, and burials, was brought before them. They were

anxious to execute him, but were obliged to postpone the matter, as the

offence had been committed in another county[684].

Sussex was at Lancaster during the first weeks of March, very busy with

the assizes. His expedition was particularly aimed against the

religious; he boasted to Cromwell that he was keeping his promise “for

the punishment of such traitorous monks.”[685] Whalley was the first

house to be attacked. No documents concerning its fall remain, except

some examinations of monks about the sale of the abbey plate[686], but

the accusations against the abbot were bound up with the affairs of

Sawley. It has been shown that Sir Arthur Darcy occupied Sawley and

arrested the abbot. He took some depositions against the house, but

these are lost. There was evidence against the abbot without them; his

supplication had been found among Sir Thomas Percy’s papers, and his

servant Shuttleworth had made his confession[687].

Shuttleworth was sent up to London and examined there on 23 February,

when he told all the details of his mission to Percy[688]. At the same

time Sir Arthur Darcy arrested the abbot. No doubt this alarmed the

scattered brethren, and Richard Estgate, the abbot’s chaplain[689] who

had been in his confidence, fled to Whalley Abbey, where his brother

John Estgate was a monk. According to Sanders the fugitive reached

Whalley while the brethren were at supper, and was sheltered by the

monks unknown to the abbot, yet for this offence alone the abbot of

Whalley was hanged[690]. This story receives some confirmation from the

fact that Richard Estgate, a monk of Sawley, was hanged at Whalley the

day after the abbot’s execution, in company with William Heydock, a monk

of Whalley, ten laymen and some of the canons of Cartmell[691].

The indictment of the abbot has not been discovered among the records of

riots, thefts and so forth which were tried at the spring assizes in

Lancaster that year, but it is known that John Paslew, twenty-fifth and

last abbot of Whalley, was convicted of high treason before the Earls of

Sussex and Derby and was executed at Whalley on 10 March 1536–7, “in a

field opposite his birth-place.”[692] Stow says that John Estgate was

executed with the abbot[693], but this is a mistake, as John Estgate

went to the monastery of his order at Nethe on the dispersal of the

brethren[694]. Stow must have confused John with his brother Richard

Estgate, the monk of Sawley. Sussex believed that the abbot of Whalley’s

conviction was brought about by a special providence, because he had so

many friends that it might have proved difficult; “it will be a terror

to corrupt minds hereafter.”[695]

It is not known when the abbot of Sawley suffered or whether any of his

brethren were with him. He was within Norfolk’s not Sussex’

jurisdiction, and the King sent special orders that matter must be found

against him[696]. There is only one reference to his death. Sir Stephen

Hamerton, examined in the Tower on 25 April 1537, related that “the

abbot [of Sawley] when condemned to die, sent to ask his forgiveness for

having named him in the said letter [the supplication] ... this Sir

Arthur Darcy can himself show.”[697] The abbot’s “most sinister

back-friend” was with him at the last. In the end of the Coucher Book of

Sawley Abbey are written some latin verses which have been regarded as a

lament for the death of the last abbot. Examination shows, however, that

they cannot be interpreted as referring to him, for the writing is of

too early a character, and is probably not later than the beginning of

the sixteenth century. The verses are, in fact, a short poem on the

Crucifixion, but Whitaker, who printed an incorrect copy of them,

thought they contained an allusion to the death of the last abbot, and

Harland, the historian of the abbey, accepted Whitaker’s conjecture. The

version printed by both these antiquaries is unintelligible; a new

transcript is given below[698].

According to some accounts the abbot of Sawley was executed at Lancaster

but this must be a mistake arising from a confusion between the two

abbots of Whalley and Sawley. It is said that the prior of Sawley was

executed with the abbot[699]. There is no proof of this, but it is not

improbable.

However many Sussex executed, there were still some who escaped him.

These included the sub-prior and two brethren of Cartmell, Captain

Atkinson, the bailiffs of Dent, Milnthorpe and Kendal, and four or five

more[700]. Atkinson and the bailiff of Kendal, however, were afterwards

captured by Norfolk. Atkinson was betrayed by “his own sister’s

son.”[701]

Sussex wrote to Norfolk that Sir Richard Tempest “was neither good first

nor last”; his brother Nicholas and his servants were the first men who

stirred Lancashire. As for the present state of the country, “as long as

the world standeth this will be a dreadful example”; the commons were

sorrowful for their offences and meekly made submission[702].

In a letter to the King written on 11 March 1536–7, but now lost, Sussex

told the story of an old man, who, on being condemned as a traitor, made

lamentation at the bar, crying out that he had thrice served the King

against the Scots. The Lieutenants, whether from pity or policy,

respited him and referred the matter to their master. Henry replied that

he took their action in good part, but none was more worthy to suffer

than a man who had so often taken the King’s wages. In this letter,

dated 17 March, the King heartily thanked the Earls for their diligence

in redressing the grievances of true subjects and in punishing corrupt

ones. He was especially pleased with their seizure of the goods of

Whalley Abbey, and the execution of the abbot. As the house had been so

evil, he thought it would be better in his own hands; the crown was

entitled to it, as he explained, by the attainder of the abbot. The

Earls were to persuade the monks to enter other houses, as they would be

safer there than wandering about the country. If some would not consent

to this, they might be given capacities. Above all the Earls must take

care that the abbey goods were not embezzled[703].

On 21 March 1536–7 Sussex wrote to Cromwell from Preston. He had been

very busy with the assize work, but expected to have finished it in five

or six days. He needed the King’s letters for bestowing the monks of

Whalley; after that was arranged, there would be no longer any need of

his presence in Lancashire. He did not believe horse meat and man’s meat

could be so hard to get in any other shire in England. He would leave

the people in very good obedience, but he thought the monks of Furness

had been concerned in the insurrection. Cromwell had asked for Richard

Estgate’s confession, but neither before nor after his condemnation

could the Earl bring him to accuse anyone, save that he once said

Nicholas Tempest was a great favourer of the house of Sawley[704].

Henry’s nobles always hated being sent to the north, which they

naturally regarded as “the last place God made,” in a phrase of the

time. Sussex did his best to earn a speedy recall and a sunny welcome to

court, and the monks suffered in consequence.

Furness was the next house to which the Earl turned his attention. On 14

March 1536–7 Alexander Richardson, the bailiff of Dalton, deposed what

he knew against the monks. His evidence as to the first rebellion was

all hearsay; he was told that their tenants had been summoned to come

out with horse and harness, that the abbot had “taken a way to be sure

both of King and commons,” and that money had been sent to the rebel

host. About a fortnight before he made his deposition a friar told him

that one of the monks named Henry Sawley had said, “there should be no

lay knave head of the Church.” Meeting the same friar on 13 March, just

after the execution of the abbot and monks of Whalley, the bailiff asked

what was likely to happen to Dan Henry Sawley “now at my lords’ being

here?” The friar answered, “Nothing, I will say nothing.”[705] This

friar was Robert Legate, who had been “put into that monastery of

Furness to read and preach to the brethren,” and also, probably, to act

as one of Cromwell’s spies[706]. Sussex received orders from the King to

“search out the whole truth” about the disloyalty of the Furness monks

and to imprison them till further orders were sent. The King enclosed

letters for the brethren of Whalley to go to other houses, but those who

wished to go to Jervaux must choose another place, as that abbey was

likely to be suppressed for the same offence as their own. Those who had

chosen capacities might be given “bedding, chamber stuff and some

money.” Richard Estgate must be sent to London, for Sir Arthur Darcy

knew such matter against him as might lead him to confess[707]; but the

monk was already hanged. The affairs of Whalley were soon despatched,

and an inventory of the plate and goods was taken on 24 March[708]. The

prior, a man of eighty, who had been fifty years a monk, begged that he

might be appointed to the parish church; Sussex thought this would be

charitable, and the prior was not likely to live long[709].

Sussex attended to this suppression, while Derby was still at Preston

sitting in justice. The Abbot of Furness was ordered to attend at

Whalley, and beheld the ruin that was soon to overtake his own house.

The commissioners made every effort, but they could find only two out of

his thirty-three brethren who had offended since the pardon. A good deal

of evidence was produced by Robert Legate, the vicar of Dalton, and the

abbot himself. The monks had repeated prophecies which were supposed to

foretell the King’s death[710]. They had favoured the Pilgrims and one

of them had spoken against the supremacy since the pardon. Dan Henry

Sawley, who used to speak slanderously against the King when overcome

with ale, was committed to Lancaster Castle, with another of the monks.

Robert Legate did not say “nothing,” but accused him of traitorous

words, and related that when he, Legate, preached a sermon commending

the King’s just laws, Sawley said “it was a marvel that God did not take

vengeance of us both, of him for his preaching and of us for hearing

him.” Legate accused the abbot of ordering the monks to make no

complaints to the King’s commissioners; another charge was that he

concealed Sawley’s traitorous words about the “lay knave” who was head

of the Church[711].

The abbot had boasted that he had made himself safe both with King and

commons; but now he was in the gravest peril, while a brother abbot was

not a fortnight dead. He must have gone to Whalley full of the darkest

fears and eager to clutch at any chance of escape. Those who had

anything to give and were weak enough to give it could often buy a

pardon from the King. The abbot was again examined before Sussex, more

straitly than ever. Still nothing could be found that would “serve the

purpose,” and the Earl wrote to the King quite frankly that, one way

failing, he sought out another to dispose of the monks, that the abbey

“might be at your gracious pleasure.” Sussex suggested to the abbot that

he might surrender the house of his own free will. The abbot was “very

facile,” and wrote out a form of surrender immediately in the presence

of Sussex and his council[712]. He said that with their aid the brethren

might be brought to ratify it under the convent seal. Three knights were

sent off to take charge of the house, and to see that nothing was

embezzled. Sussex proposed to follow them shortly[713]. Henry was

entirely satisfied with this prudent conduct of the affairs of Furness;

he ordered inventories to be taken of the goods and jewels of the house,

and arrangements to be made for the confiscation of the lands. The monks

were to be dealt with as in the case of Whalley; the Earl might allow

them apparel and “other things as be of no great value,” considering the

King’s profit, “and yet rid the said monks in such honest sort as all

parties shall be therewith contented.”[714] So anxious were Sussex and

his council to make no blunders about the King’s claim that no less than

three forms of surrender were drawn up[715]. The final suppression of

Furness Abbey did not take place until July[716].

Besides the trial of offenders and the suppression of monasteries,

Sussex had a third duty to perform, the collection of evidence against

the leaders of the Pilgrimage. A clue was provided when a copy of

Norfolk’s letter to Darcy about the second meeting at Doncaster[717] was

discovered in the chamber of Randolph Lynney, the vicar of

Blackburn[718]. Lynney was imprisoned in Lancaster Castle. While Sussex

was at Whalley he sent for the vicar and examined him as to how he

obtained the letter. This examination is lost, but there is one still

extant which was taken at the same time. This second prisoner was

William Talbot, one of Darcy’s servants[719]. Before the second

appointment at Doncaster Talbot had been sent from Templehurst into

Lancashire with letters to the Abbot of Whalley. Among them he brought

the copy of Norfolk’s letter, which had been given to him by one of

Aske’s servants. It must have been sent as definite proof that Norfolk

had consented to a meeting, and the vicar of Blackburn must have

received it from the abbot.

Talbot was a Lancashire man, and had Darcy’s orders to raise the

country, but not, probably, unless the negotiations fell through. The

vicar of Blackburn was ready to help him, and said that if the commons

rose again “he would bear the cross afore them and said God speed them

well in their journey,” but, receiving no further orders, Talbot

remained quietly in Lancashire until Sussex sought him out. He recalled

a number of anecdotes and sayings of Darcy’s, but they all related to

the period covered by the pardon, as Talbot had never seen his master

since the second appointment. Nevertheless they are endorsed “Talbot’s

Confession against Lord Darcy, traitor.”[720] On 8 April 1537 Sussex

sent to Cromwell this document and the vicar of Blackburn’s lost

confession[721], together with the depositions of the monks of Whalley

about the sale of plate[722], some evidence against William Colyns

bailiff of Kendal[723], and Dr Dakyn’s letter to the Prior of

Cartmell[724]. Information was also required against the Tempests[725],

whom Sussex believed to be very blameworthy.

The King was delighted with all this evidence, and particularly with

Dakyn’s letter, by which another monastery might be brought into his

hands. Sussex received gracious permission to return to court when the

affairs of Furness were settled, and the King promised that the abbey

lands should not be bestowed without the Earl’s advice[726]. Sussex set

out for London about 18 April. Sir Anthony Fitzherbert, his companion,

sent Cromwell a eulogistic account of the wisdom and diligence by which

he had brought Lancashire into perfect obedience[727].

At the same time as the Lancashire assizes the prisoners at Lincoln were

being tried and put to death. The insurgents there may have shown

weakness at the crisis of their attempt, but the expiation of their

failure was very terrible. The swift execution that the King had

designed for them would have been more merciful than the long winter of

captivity during which their fortune swung between life and death. In

order to understand the circumstances it is necessary to go back to 12

October 1536, when Suffolk sent up to the King the names of the

gentlemen who had surrendered themselves at his camp. They were all the

principal commissioners who had been taken by the commons, Tyrwhit,

Skipwith, the Dymmokes and the rest[728].

The King’s lieutenants, the Duke of Suffolk and the Earl of Shrewsbury,

were anxious to treat the matter as an ordinary riot. A certain number

of the commons might be executed, and the whole affair forgotten. They

both assured the King of the gentlemen’s loyalty[729]. Henry was not so

easily satisfied. The inclination of the gentlemen to join the rebels

was the most dangerous feature of the situation, and on 15 October he

sent orders that they were all to be examined. Those whose conduct had

been suspicious must be sent up to London; the rest might be “dismissed

with good words,” but they were to remain in Suffolk’s custody until the

commons had surrendered their weapons. Hudswell and Cutler must be sent

up to London, and the Lieutenant might keep for execution four captains

of Louth, three of Horncastle and two of Caistor as a beginning[730].

Suffolk reported that the sheriff, Edward Dymmoke, had already presented

to him “an arrant traitor,” who was in ward at Stamford and would be

executed in two or three days[731], but this did not satisfy Henry. He

suspected that the gentlemen would persuade Suffolk to execute out of

hand the commons who could bear evidence against them. He therefore

instructed his Lieutenant to be cautious as to whom he hanged. Also he

was not to execute one alone, but to proceed as instructed at Louth,

Horncastle and elsewhere with “as many of the common traitors as shall

seem requisite.” No gentlemen need be executed there. Any who had

notably offended must be sent up to London[732]. Henry despatched his

answer to the Lincolnshire petition on 19 October. In it the number of

victims necessary to satisfy the royal vengeance was appointed at a

hundred[733].

Hitherto the King had felt no serious doubt that he could do as he liked

in Lincolnshire, and he seems to have reproached Suffolk with slackness,

in that not a single execution had yet taken place. But at this point

the effect of the rising in Yorkshire began to be experienced. Suffolk

dared not hang men; he dared not even “take them cruelly,” or

Lincolnshire would join Yorkshire[734]. Nevertheless he proceeded slowly

with the examinations. Cutler, Hudswell, and Lord Hussey were sent up to

London on 18 October[735]. The confession of Abbot Mackerell of Barlings

was taken on 20 October[736], and numbers of others followed[737].

On 22 October it was known at court that two hundred men of Louth had

taken the oath to the King and surrendered fifteen of their ringleaders,

including Nicholas Melton, otherwise Captain Cobbler[738]. On the same

day Horncastle submitted. Suffolk prepared books of the examinations to

be sent to the King and apologised for the delay in the executions. “We

have so much to do that we cannot possibly provide for all things,” but

he promised that the traitors should receive their full deserts in

time[739], and sent lists of the gentlemen who had taken the King’s oath

and of the rebels whom he held prisoner[740]. The King sent back a list

of the points on which the prisoners must be interrogated in order to

reveal the complicity of the gentlemen[741]. Wriothesley was disgusted

that they were not to be sent up to London for examination[742], but the

King did not wish to alarm the gentlemen, who might still escape to

Yorkshire. George Hudswell, however, who had already been sent up, was

examined[743], and, probably on his accusation, Thomas Moigne was

arrested and sent to London on 26 October. Richard Cromwell informed his

uncle of Moigne’s arrest. His letter contains one of those minor

mysteries which cannot be explained. “This night, by my Lord’s command I

have, with much business, taken George Wyndessor.”[744] Perhaps the

business involved the wounding of the captive so severely that he did

not survive; at any rate his name is never mentioned again, although

Richard Cromwell attached so much importance to his arrest.

The council at Lincoln still used the gentlemen very gently. Cromwell’s

servants looked forward to more rigorous measures[745], when the first

appointment at Doncaster stopped the proceedings altogether. Norfolk’s

letter, which announced the truce to the Privy Council, concluded “for

God’s sake help that his Highness cause not my lord of Suffolk put any

man to death unto my coming.”[746] The prisoners were kept in the castle

at Lincoln[747]. Only one man is known to have been executed[748], but

it is probable that some others suffered at this time, just before the

first appointment. There were rumours to that effect[749], and it is

significant that the names of Nicholas Melton (Captain Cobbler) and

Thomas Foster the singing-man of Louth never occur after their

examination on 21 October. It is not likely that they were spared. The

probability is that they and perhaps others were executed without any

record of their death. The Abbot of Barlings was saved from execution by

the truce[750]. After the truce the examination of the prisoners

continued[751].

On 14 November 1536 the King sent a pardon to be proclaimed in

Lincolnshire for all except the prisoners[752], of whom there were at

this time about 140 in Lincoln Castle and more in the town[753]. After

this nothing more is heard of them, except that they were safely

guarded[754], until 12 January 1536–7. By that time twelve, including

the Abbot of Barlings, had been removed from Lincoln to the Tower, where

they were examined again[755].

There was still a party in Lincolnshire eager for a new rising. Aske was

told “that if any power had come [from Yorkshire] into Lincolnshire

before the agreement at Doncaster, the commons of Lincolnshire would

have taken their part.”[756] There are traces of a plot for a new

rebellion in January 1536–7[757]. The leader of the project was William

Leache, who, though he had been excepted from the pardon, had never been

captured. A man who carried messages from him was taken and sent to the

Duke of Norfolk before 14 February[758]. Leache’s two brothers, Nicholas

vicar of Belchford, and Robert, were among the prisoners, and the long

delay, during which it seemed sometimes that the prisoners would be

freed, sometimes that they must die, could not but produce an attempt in

their favour, but it came to nothing.

On Monday 5 March Sir William Parre arrived at Lincoln to try the

rebels. After him came Sir Walter Luke, Serjeant Hinde, William Horwood

the King’s Solicitor, and the gentlemen of the county who were royal

commissioners; they were all royalists. The trials were not disgraced by

the unnatural proceedings which had characterised Norfolk’s assizes at

York[759].

There were now a hundred prisoners in the charge of the sheriff[760],

exactly the number which the King had named[761]. Yet in November 1536

there had been over 140. It is unknown what became of the rest. Perhaps

they were discharged; perhaps they died in the overcrowded and

insanitary prisons; perhaps some of them were executed, for it was

reported in Yorkshire in February that “they were busily hanged” in

Lincolnshire[762].

Thirty-four prisoners were brought to trial on the morning of Tuesday 6

March 1536–7. In spite of the King’s efforts to discover the guilt of

the gentlemen, only one of them appeared among the prisoners, Thomas

Moigne the lawyer, who served as a scape-goat for the rest. His

execution was desirable, from Henry’s point of view, as he was a very

able man, but in one way it would have been safer to select a less

capable victim, as he “for three hours held plea with such subtle

allegations, that if Sergeant Hinde and the Solicitor had not acquitted

themselves like true servants to the King and profound learned men, he

had troubled and in a manner evict all the rest.”[763] Moigne’s labour,

however, was thrown away, as all the prisoners were condemned[764].

The sentence cannot be described as unjust. Not only according to Tudor

laws, but by any law, it is treason to bear arms against the government,

or to give aid to rebels. The prisoner may plead that he acted from

fear, or in the hope that he might acquire sufficient influence over the

rebels to make them alter their intentions, but if the judge does not

choose to listen to the plea, he may be blamed for harshness but not for

injustice. The lives of the Lincolnshire men were forfeit, for they had

made no terms. When they had weapons in their hands they had not tried

to save themselves, and now they paid the penalty.

Among the condemned were fourteen laymen, including Moigne and Guy

Kyme[765], who acted as an intermediary between Yorkshire and

Lincolnshire, six parish priests, including Thomas Yoell a native of

Louth but priest of Sotby, who was aged and blind[766], four monks of

Barlings, six monks of Bardney, three monks of Kirkstead and Richard

Harrison the Abbot of Kirkstead. All the monks of Kirkstead had been

with the host, and the abbot sent money and food, though he excused

himself as he was ill. The monks said in their defence that the commons

had threatened to burn the house if they did not come, and that the

abbot rejoiced when they came back and thanked God that there had been

no business[767].

Moigne, Kyme and the abbot were executed at Lincoln on Wednesday 7 March

1536–7. Moigne suffered the full penalty, but the other two were only

hanged[768].

Meanwhile on Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday morning the other

sixty-four prisoners were tried. They were found guilty and condemned,

but apparently it was understood that they were not to be executed, and

the court presented a formal petition that the King would show them

mercy[769]. They were all laymen[770], and among them may be noticed

Robert Horncliff and Anthony Curtis, whose adventures have already been

related[771]. Curtis was indicted but not arraigned, “because it is

thought he is within the compass of the pardon and would plead it.”[772]

The other two prisoners who made up the hundred were Roger New of

Horncastle, who was in the Tower[773], and Robert Carre of Sleaford, who

had been discharged by Cromwell’s orders[774]. The goods of all the

prisoners were forfeited to the King by their attainder. Sir William

Tyrwhit, the new sheriff, petitioned for the property of Guy Kyme in

recompense for his expenses over the prisoners[775].

Those who had been pardoned were set at liberty upon sureties. The rest

of the condemned were executed on Friday 9 March at Horncastle and on

Saturday 10 March at Louth, before all the people assembled for the

market[776]. The country was then reported to be in perfect quiet, and

Parre proceeded to take inventories of the lands and goods of Kirkstead

and Barlings. A monk had been discovered at Bardney who had not been

tried at the last assize, and Parre wished to know what was to be done

with him[777].

The first business of the court at Lincoln of 5 March had been to find a

true bill for high treason against the twelve prisoners in the Tower,

Matthew Mackerell Abbot of Barlings, Thomas Kendall vicar of Louth[778],

Thomas Ratford vicar of Snelland[779], Robert Southbye[780], George

Hudswell[781], Roger New[782], Bernard Fletcher[783], Brian

Staines[784], Philip Trotter[785], Nicholas Leache[786], Robert

Leache[787], and William Burreby alias Morland the monk of Louth

Park[788]. The prisoners were brought up for trial at the Guildhall on

Monday 26 March 1537. The charge was that they

“did on Monday 2 October [1536] 28 Henry VIII at Louth riotously

assemble with others in great numbers, compassing and imagining the

death of the King; and for that intent held a discourse amongst

themselves that they with a great multitude and power would rule and

govern the King against his will and deprive him of his royal liberty

and power, and subvert and annul divers statutes ordained in the reign

of the said King for the common weal and government of England; and

for such purpose did levy war against the King. And that they with

arms, etc., levied war against the King, and slew divers of the lieges

who refused to fulfil their traitorous intent; and made proclamations,

and rang the common bells and so assembled 4000 persons until

Wednesday 4 October, when, having chosen captains and assembled 6000

persons, they proceeded to Caistor and compelled Sir Robert Tyrwhit

and his fellow justices, then holding sessions there, to fly, and took

certain of the said justices. Further, that the said Leache, etc.,

continued in arms, etc., at Louth, Caistor, Legbourne and elsewhere

from that Wednesday until the Thursday following, when they assembled

at Towys to the number of 10,000 persons, and thence on the following

Friday, to the number of 12,000 with banners displayed, went towards

Lincoln and continued the same day in a field at Netlam, called Netlam

Field, at war against the King. And thus the said Leache, etc.,

compassed and imagined the King’s death, etc.”[789]

The prisoners pleaded “not guilty” but were all found guilty and

condemned to death. The sentence was carried out with the usual

barbarities at Tyburn on 29 March 1537, and the bodies were buried at

Pardon Churchyard by the Charterhouse[790].

These were all the prisoners from Lincolnshire who are known to have

been executed. There were a few others whose fate is unknown. William

Longbottom was examined in the Tower on 12 January 1536–7, but he was

not among those tried at the Guildhall[791]. A canon of Barlings was in

the Tower on 18 March 1536–7[792], but he has no further history, and no

directions concerning the monk of Bardney, about whom Parre wrote, have

been preserved.

The most interesting of the sufferers is Matthew Mackerell Bishop of

Chalcedon and Abbot of Barlings. He is described as a man of remarkable

eloquence. In 1524 he preached the funeral sermon of the old Duke of

Norfolk, and so moving was his discourse on death and the Resurrection

that the whole congregation was seized with a dread that the dead duke

was about to rise from his coffin, and all rushed tumultuously from the

church[793]. It is singular that priestly eloquence played so small a

part in the rebellion. Several of the laymen could sway multitudes by

their speech, but the only two instances of priests using this their

chosen weapon were the “collation” of Thomas Kendall the vicar of Louth

and Archbishop Lee’s unfortunate sermon at Pontefract. Abbot Mackerell

might have been a powerful ally and his gift must have made him a

special object of dread to the King. According to all the historians

before and including Froude, the Abbot played a distinguished part in

the rising, although he was not, as some chroniclers imagined, Captain

Cobbler. Recently, however, it has been pointed out that his activity

was much less than had been supposed. As his is in a sense a test case,

it may be as well to go into it in detail.

The Abbot of Barlings was accused of having had foreknowledge of the

rebellion, because about a month before it broke out he had sent away

much of the plate and ornaments of the monastery to be hidden in the

houses of laymen[794]. To this charge he replied that when the King’s

surveyors were seizing the goods of the lesser monasteries, it was

reported that after Michaelmas they would return and take those of the

greater houses, beginning at Barlings. When he heard this he called the

brethren together and advised them to make provision for themselves by

selling their plate and vestments, as the government pension was only

40_s._ a-piece. The monks agreed and he proceeded to sell the

plate[795]. This was not very honest dealing, as the possessions of the

monastery did not, of course, belong to the individual monks. On the

other hand, neither did they belong to the King, who had received the

lesser monasteries, but not the greater, by Act of Parliament. It was

easy for the monks to persuade themselves that they had a better right

to the valuables than the King. Nevertheless the abbot can be acquitted

of treason only by acknowledging embezzlement.

Second, he was charged with inciting the commons to plunder the house of

John Freeman, one of the surveyors, and to murder Freeman himself[796].

This charge rested only on Freeman’s own assertion, and therefore is not

worthy of consideration.

Third, he was accused of having aided and encouraged the rebels. He

confessed that he had aided them by the gift of provisions and money,

but he protested that he acted through fear, weeping and trembling in a

far from encouraging manner. The main charge was that when he brought

the provisions to the rebel host, he urged the captains to proclaim what

he had brought. He defended this by saying that he hoped the

proclamation would appease the commons and prevent them from demanding

more[797]. His words were, “Masters, I have according to your

commandment brought you victual, beseeching you to be good unto me and

preserve my house from spoil, and if ye will let me have a passport I

will go to a lordship of mine called Sweton, where, against your coming

to Ancaster Heath, I will prepare for you as much more victual”[798];

but it was reported that he said, “Go forward and stick to this matter,”

and the messengers to Beverley told the Yorkshire men of the abbot’s

great present and his comfortable words[799].

The case of Abbot Mackerell is typical of those of the other abbots and

religious men who were involved in the rebellion. It is curious that

their most ardent apologists dwell particularly on the small share that

the monks took in it, as this does not at first sight appear to be to

their credit. The Pilgrims were putting themselves, “lives, wives,

children, lands, goods and chattels ... to the utter adventure of total

destruction,” on behalf of the monks. In return they were received with

terror, helped grudgingly, and dismissed as soon as possible. Their

champions might risk their all, but the monks would risk nothing in

return if they could help it. They were ready to share the fruits of

victory, but they had no mind to suffer for a possible defeat. The

attitude of the Abbot of Furness was only too common—they wanted to be

safe with both sides.

In extenuation it may be urged that the arrival of a band of rebels at a

monastery was often indistinguishable from the arrival of a gang of

marauders. At the beginning of the rebellion, moreover, the commons

often compelled the monks to serve in their ranks, which was contrary to

the monastic vow; it is not suggested that the religious should have

borne arms, but that they might have been more liberal of money,

encouragement and prayers.

Then too the monks were landowners, sharing all the interests and

terrors of the propertied class. They might on the whole be better

landlords than laymen were, but in individual cases they had aroused

hatred, and they feared the consequences. The Abbot of Jervaux’s tenants

were ready to murder him. Mackerell said that many of the commons were

his mortal enemies[800]. The poor were groping towards a policy of their

own, that they would defend the monasteries if the landlords would

remedy their grievances. The religious were not farsighted enough to

understand and adopt this policy. They would not take part with the

commons; they were merely afraid of them and thought that somebody ought

to keep them in order. They did not see that by their own faith they

might convert a disorderly rabble into a body of crusaders. It was not

impossible; the miracle had been wrought before and would be again, but

the English religious of that age were not the men to perform it. They

were in the main worthy creatures enough, but incapable of either a

martyr’s complete self-abnegation or a rebel’s courage and decision:

“The life of the monastery was cut off from the life of the nation.

Narrowness of sympathy was the most serious fault of the monk. He had

little interest in what went on outside the abbey close. He had

nothing to care for or to work for, except the maintenance of the

wealth and position of his house. His whole life was spent in its

corridors and gardens, except when he was sent out in company with

another brother to gather the rents of its distant estates, or to

accompany the abbot on his occasional visit to London. He spent all

his waking hours in company with several score of other men, as singly

devoted as he was himself to the interests of the place.... It is not

wonderful that he developed a narrowness of mind which made him, in

questions of local or national interest, a dead weight on

society.”[801]

When the order came for the monks to go, they lamented—and accepted the

King’s pension. There were among them some martyrs and some rebels, but

even out of those who were executed many would have submitted to the

King on any terms if he would have accepted their submission.

Henry was not inclined to be lenient, and he had no difficulty in

satisfying his anger against the clergy, regular and secular, but that

was not enough; he wanted also to punish the gentlemen, whom he

suspected of great negligence and probable disloyalty, because they had

not prevented the rebellion at the first signs of disturbance. In this

he was partially baffled by the strong class spirit of the gentlemen.

His lieutenants were reluctant to gather evidence against men of their

own order. They were quite willing to sacrifice the commons, and they

could not save the monks, but as far as possible they protected the

gentlemen and even the higher of the secular clergy[802].

This reluctance could not be more than a temporary check to the King. If

he could not trust his agents, he would act himself. There is reason to

suppose that he did not intend to permit some of the northern gentlemen

who rode up to court at Christmas 1536 to return to the north again, but

if this were so the outcry of the commons in the north temporarily saved

their lords, and convinced the King that the time for the blow had not

come. The commons were inspired more by fear than by love. They were not

so much anxious lest their masters should be put to death as suspicious

that they were plotting with the King against the commons. As it turned

out the effect of the gentlemen’s return was greatly in the King’s

favour, as it encouraged those whom he summoned later to come up to him

without fear. In this way the Percys, Sir Robert Constable, and Lord

Darcy went unsuspiciously up to London.

The proceedings of Norfolk and Sussex and the executions in Lincolnshire

shook the confidence of the gentlemen who remained in the north. They

could not help seeing that the King’s oblivion of the past extended only

to the appointment of Doncaster. He had forgotten his own promises, but

he was not inclined to forget the behaviour of the gentlemen, and he was

prepared to strain the law to the utmost in order to evade the

observation of the pardon. As this came to be realised in Yorkshire the

uneasiness which it produced was the cause of the last Yorkshire plot,

devised by that particularly unsuitable conspirator, Sir John Bulmer.

About the middle of March the Bulmers’ peace was suddenly disturbed by

the delivery of a royal citation summoning both Sir John and Margaret

his wife to go up to London[803]. This part of the affair is difficult

to follow, but it is probable that information had been laid against

them by Gregory Conyers, who played so mysterious a part in Bigod’s

rising[804]. Norfolk must have sent his accusations to London, but the

letter containing them is lost.

On receiving the summons the unfortunate couple realised that it was

probably their death warrant, but Sir John resolved to make sure. He

obtained licence from Norfolk to delay his journey until Easter, and

wrote privately to his son Ralph, who was still in London, to ask

whether he might safely obey the summons[805]. Ralph sent back a servant

named Lasingham with the message that Sir John “should look well to

himself, for, as far as he could perceive, all was falsehood that they

were dealt withal,”[806] a true but dangerous message. The gentlemen who

were summoned to London at that time were all wanted for trial, and the

Bulmers, conscious of their secret, were driven desperate by fear.

Lady Bulmer was terrified lest she should be parted from her husband.

Their connection had been irregular, and she knew that there was no hope

of mercy if her conduct were called in question. Sir John Watts, the

parish priest of Easington, Yorks, said, “She is feared that she will be

departed from him for ever ... she peradventure will say, ‘Mr Bulmer for

my sake break a spear,’ and then he like a dow will [say], ‘Pretty Peg,

I will never forsake thee.’” His servants heard him say that “he had

liever be racked than part from his wife,”[807] and she for her part

declared that “she would liever be torn in pieces than go to London.”

Apart from other considerations, her baby son was not three months old,

and it would be equally hard to take or to leave him. In spite of the

priest’s assertion that Margaret encouraged her husband to plan a new

insurrection sooner than obey the royal summons, it seems that she

really used her influence to persuade him to escape by sea either to

Ireland or to Scotland[808]; but it was very difficult to induce a man

to leave his father’s home and his native land in those days. In almost

every case a suspected man preferred the probability of death to the

certainty of exile. Sir John would not fly, but neither would he go to

London. He preferred the desperate expedient of an attempt to raise a

new insurrection, saying, “As good be slain and die in the field as be

martyred as many other were above.”[809] The exact date when Ralph

Bulmer’s warning was received is not known, but it was about Palm Sunday

25 March 1537. In “Palm Sunday week” Margaret begged Sir John to fly,

but he resolved to stay and make a last effort to revive the Pilgrimage.

On Thursday 29 March Sir John Bulmer’s chaplain, William Staynhus, set

out from Lastingham, where Sir John was living, on a tour among the

neighbouring parish priests “to inquire if the commons would rise again,

which they should know by men’s confessions.” Margaret suggested that he

should go to Bartholomew Cottam and Parson Franke, rector of Lofthouse,

who had been a captain in the first insurrection[810]. The chaplain was

also to visit John Watts the parson of Easington, the parson of

Hinderwell and, perhaps, Gregory Conyers. His message seems to have been

that an attempt should be made to seize Scarborough on Easter Day[811],

though if this is correct Bulmer was allowing very little time for

preparation as it was already Thursday and Easter was the following

Sunday.

Other messengers were sent out besides the chaplain. Robert Hugill went

to the vicar of Kirkby in Cleveland, and Sir John Bulmer wrote to Lord

Lumley “to come and live with him till they might provide some way for

themselves.”[812] With the letter he sent a copy of a treasonable bill

which had been brought to him by his servant Blenkinsop[813]. Lord

Lumley’s son was in the Tower, with very little hope of obtaining mercy

from the King. Staynhus told Sir John that Lumley had said, “If he were

commanded to come up [to London], he would bring 10,000 at his tail.”

Sir John replied that it was impossible for both himself and Lord Lumley

together to raise enough men to save them from the King. Staynhus did

not press the point and merely said, “Nay, that is truth, but thus speak

they there.”[814] Shortly before Good Friday Sir John visited Lord

Lumley, who was living at Kilton near Guisborough; although Lumley had

intended to spend Whitsuntide at Kilton, after Sir John’s visit he left

the place hurriedly, “which things causeth a great murmur to be here in

the country.”[815]

Bulmer was counting on the help of Lord Latimer, who had also been

summoned to London, and of Sir James Strangways, an old friend of his,

but it does not appear that he sent them any messages[816]. When he

received his son’s warning, however, he sent it on to Lord Darcy and

perhaps to Sir Robert Constable[817], but they probably had set out for

London before the message arrived; at any rate they paid no attention to

it.

After despatching his messengers Sir John went to Rosedale, where he was

the lessee of a suppressed monastery[818]. The parish priest, Sir James

Otterburn, said to him on Good Friday, “Here is great destruction of

people since my Lord Norfolk came,” and hinted that the country was

ready to rise again[819]. Sir John received further encouragement from a

very unexpected quarter. Young Sir Ralph Evers had occasion to write to

him about the presentation to the living of Settrington, and in his

letter he sharply criticised both Norfolk and Cromwell. It is true that

Evers afterwards denied that he had written this part of the letter, and

asserted that it had been forged by his enemies, but Norfolk, who

investigated the affair, came to the conclusion that Evers was really

responsible for the words[820]. As he, next to the Earl of Cumberland,

had been the chief supporter of the King’s cause in the north, the fact

that even he was turning against the King’s measures is highly

significant, and must have been very encouraging to the Bulmers. This,

however, was the end of their success, for William Staynhus’ mission was

a failure.

Staynhus went first to see John Watts, parson of Easington, and revealed

his master’s purpose to him in the presence of Bartholomew Cottam.

Watts, a garrulous but harmless old man, entered into a long discourse

about “the chronicles.” Probably, like Wilfrid Holme, he proved from

history to his own satisfaction that “treason can never prosper.” By his

account his arguments completely baffled Staynhus, who could not of

course complete the rhyme. “He gave no answer, but I answered that,” “he

answered no word”—are Watts’ report of Staynhus’ share in the

conversation. He managed to say that he was on his way to Parson Franke

at Lofthouse, and Watts determined to forestall him; “my purpose was

that he [Franke] being a marvellous witted man as we have in all our

country might have his answer surely.”

Although Watts said service before he set out, he arrived at Lofthouse

before Staynhus, whose horse was weary. Watts repeated the chaplain’s

message to Franke, “he hearing me patiently,” and then suggested that he

had better go home again before Staynhus arrived, so that his errand

should not be suspected. The two priests set out together, but they met

Staynhus on the road. Staynhus said, “I have a message to show you from

my master and my lady.” Franke answered, “If ye have any message to say

to me, my brother parson shall hear and the bailiff and the constable

both, because your master was with my Lord Lumley within these two days,

saying he had both brewed and baked and slain his beefs, and suddenly my

Lord Lumley is gone.” As Franke was angry, Staynhus gave him a harmless

message: “My master and my lady commended them to you, desiring you to

show them whether they may make a proctor to excuse them. They are sent

for to London.”[821] Franke exclaimed, “Twisshe, straws! I can neither

thee neither thy master thanks for sending to me for any such

counsel.... If thy master be sent for to London let him go as he is

commanded. I can give him none other counsel.”[822]

Watts, “hearing that cloaked matter contrary to his [Staynhus’] saying

before Bartholomew Cottam,” cried out, “‘Parson, these be not the

matters he said he would show to you, but if ye will hear I will

rehearse them before you.’” Franke had no desire to assist at so

dangerous a rehearsal, and replied hastily that he would hear nothing,

and that Watts was “frantic.” Watts, angry in his turn, said “he should

hear them whether he would or no,” but Franke went away and summoned the

bailiff to hear Staynhus’ message, and in the interval Watts cooled.

When the bailiff came Franke repeated the “cloaked” message, and asked

if there were any harm in it. The bailiff said none that he could

perceive, and went home. Watts and Staynhus followed him[823]. The

chaplain had a letter for Franke from Sir John Bulmer, but “finding the

parson did not favour his master,” he tore up the letter and threw the

pieces “into a water between the bailiffs house and the church.”[824]

The two priests talked together as they went along. Staynhus asked Watts

what he thought would happen to the gentlemen whom the King had sent

for; Watts replied vigorously but discouragingly, “All false harlots

should be hanged by the neck.” He asked how Sir John hoped to resist the

summons, and Staynhus said that Lord Lumley had promised to succour him

to his power. Watts had no confidence in Lumley, and said he would

forsake Sir John. He also declared that he was sure the whole plot was

devised by that wicked woman Margaret, Sir John’s pretended wife. He

gave as his reason for this the story of one of Bulmer’s tenants at

Rosedale, who had heard a servant of Sir John’s say that his master had

said that he would rather be racked than parted from his wife. This was

merely a fourth-hand report, and Watts’ conviction was based on his

disapproval of Margaret’s past life rather than anything in her present

conduct.

Staynhus said nothing to confirm Watts’ opinion that Margaret was at the

bottom of the plot. When Watts went so far as to say, “Sir William, take

heed of yourself, an ye are a wanton priest, beware ye fall not in love

with her, for if ye do ye will be made as wise as your master and both

will be hanged then,” he was moved to protest, “Of a truth I never wist

she loved me but of late,” i.e. I was never on friendly terms with her

until lately.

Watts reported the conclusion of the conversation as follows:

“Then at last of all I said, ‘Sir, ye are a priest, counsel your

master to take heed of himself, and also take ye heed, for surely ye

must be first hanged; for surely, Sir William, there is not one man in

all England will take your master’s part.’ Then said Sir William,

‘Parson, I dare show my mind to you.’

‘What else?’ said I, ‘I am sure enough, and that know ye well enough.’

‘Thus it is, if my master mistrusted that the commons would not be up

at a wipe, surely he will flee to Ireland, and he trusts to get his

lands again within a year.’

Last word that ever I said to the said Sir William, I said: ‘Fare well

Sir William, for of a truth thou wilt be hanged by the neck.’”

With this encouragement Staynhus departed. Watts passed the night at the

bailiffs house at Lofthouse, and next day went home to serve mass on

Easter Even. He confessed himself to be “marvellously ‘commeryd’ in the

mind how I should do in this matter which passed greatly my wit.... I

knowing all this, some men would think I had no cause to be very merry

at my heart.... I could not compass in my mind how I should disclose

this hideous and parlous case which passeth my rude understanding.”[825]

If the worthy parson was troubled and frightened, the situation of Sir

John and his fellow conspirators was still more “hideous and parlous.”

The chaplain’s visit to Lofthouse was on Good Friday, 30 March, and by 8

April they were all under arrest. The matter came to light through

Gregory Conyers, who must have laid information very soon after Staynhus

parted from Sir John Watts, as Norfolk had time to collect some

confessions, which probably included that of Watts, before he sent up to

London on 8 April Nicholas Rudston, Gregory Conyers, William Staynhus

and Margaret Bulmer[826]. Already the husband and wife were parted, for

Sir John was to be sent up later, and did not reach London until 21

April[827]. Sir William Bulmer, on hearing of his brother’s arrest, went

to Norfolk to find out whether anything was laid to his charge, but

after examination Norfolk acquitted him and sent him up to London, not

as a prisoner but as a messenger[828].

As Staynhus, Rudston and Conyers were making their weary journey up to

London, Rudston asked the chaplain who were his accusers[829]. Staynhus

replied that they were the vicar of Easington and the rector of

Lofthouse. Rudston, sympathising with him, remarked that Franke had done

much worse than the acts with which he charged Staynhus, as he was a

head captain in Howdenshire, and caused Sir Thomas Percy to rise; “he

[Rudston] could say more if he list, ... he [Franke] was the unknownest

fellow in Yorkshire.”[830] Rudston’s accusation was correct; Franke is

mentioned as a captain in one of the earliest of Aske’s manifestos[831].

It is not certain where Lady Bulmer was imprisoned at first, but when

Sir John was sent up they were reunited in the Tower[832]. Staynhus was

confined in the Marshalsea, and found there another prisoner, John

Pickering the priest—not the friar—who was an old friend of his. They

were not harshly treated, and after they had heard each other’s

confession and dined, Staynhus told his friend why he was committed. His

story was that Sir John Bulmer had sent him to Parson Franke with the

letter of citation to London, because Bulmer wanted Franke’s advice

about it. Staynhus had called upon the priest of Easington on the way

about his private affairs, and the priest, when he heard that Sir John

was cited to London, said that he would lose his head. Franke had been

angry at Sir John’s message, and consequently Staynhus had never

delivered his master’s letter. He repeated to Pickering Rudston’s

accusation of Franke, and said that Gregory Conyers was a witness to the

words. Pickering thought the matter so important that he repeated it to

another prisoner and also to the keeper of the Marshalsea. Staynhus was

a vindictive man. He declared that if he were hanged he would cause

Parson Franke to hang Rudston or Rudston Parson Franke[833].

Thus by the beginning of May 1536 all the principal leaders of the

Pilgrimage were in the Tower, and the last hope that the appointment of

Doncaster would be observed had vanished. The humiliation of the north

was completed by the mock trial of the prisoners before a jury of their

own relations; no further resistance was possible when men had been

reduced to this infamy. In the south, however, the failure of the

insurrection caused keen disappointment in some quarters, while the

people had not the evidence of the King’s severity before their eyes to

restrain the expression of their grievances. It is true that the south

could not be induced to rise simultaneously and complete the work of the

Pilgrims. The southern sympathisers were less warlike and less

enthusiastic than the northerners. They hoped that the northern rebels

could do all that was required, and that they would enjoy the result

without sharing in the risk.

After the second appointment of Doncaster, there was an outburst of

activity among the conservative priests which the government suppressed

as far as possible. On 23 December 1536, Richard Southwell announced

that he had arrested two priests who were circulating copies of the

rebels’ oath[834]. His brother Robert Southwell reported about Easter

1537 the execution of two priests who were taken in Sussex and were

perhaps the same men[835].

On 31 December 1536 another priest was charged with sowing abroad

slanderous bills against Cromwell in Cambridgeshire, where many such

bills passed about[836]. Richard Jackson, the parson of Witnesham,

Suffolk, was reported on the same day to have brought into the pulpit

the King’s Book of Articles, and said, “shaking the book in his hand,

‘Beware, my friends, of the English books ... he that was the first and

chief setter forward of them shall be the first that shall repent him’”;

besides other speeches in favour of the Pope’s supremacy[837]. Hugh

Payne, the curate of Hadley in Suffolk, taught that one paternoster said

by a priest’s commandment was worth 1000 said voluntarily. Archbishop

Cranmer enjoined penance upon him, but he continued to preach at Stoke

Nayland in Suffolk, and Cranmer reported to Cromwell on 28 January that

he was a “wolfish Pharisee.”[838] Payne was imprisoned in the

Marshalsea, where he “was like to die of sickness and the weight of his

irons.”[839] Robert Canell was accused of preaching a seditious sermon

at Windsor on Advent Sunday 1 December 1536[840], and John Woodward was

committed to Stafford gaol for the same offence at Christmas[841].

Early in January 1536–7 the rumours began to spread again. It was said

in London that the King had levied a tax on christenings in the

north[842]; another story told at Rochester was that the Earl of

Cumberland had refused to obey the King’s summons to court and was

holding a castle against him[843], while in Buckingham it was said that

the churches would be pulled down and their jewels sold. A barber’s boy

of Aylesbury was examined about this tale; he said he heard it from his

dame, and she in her turn had heard it “at the common bakehouse, where

they were to set their bread.”[844] The same rumour was discussed in the

ale-houses of Shrewsbury early in March[845]. It had probably spread

from Wales, where there had never been more rioting than there was that

spring[846]. The Bishop of St Asaph banished one priest from his diocese

“for not rasing the Bishop of Rome’s name and for other crimes.”[847]

Another priest was accused of repeating a rumour that the King would

pull down parish churches. He had also said “that if the men of Holy

Church would rise with one assent that they would not give a point for

the King’s Grace,” and other words against the King. Although he denied

the words the Council of Wales were satisfied of his guilt by the

evidence[848]. The Abbot of Wigmore was accused of having in his service

a suspected northern rebel[849].

There was very little heresy in Wales, “for their language does not

agree to the advancement thereof,” but on 15 January 1536–7 the Bishop

of Coventry sent up to London articles against a heretic who had been

preaching in the diocese of St David during November 1536. One effect of

his doctrine was that the Prior of Woodhouse in Cleobury Mortimer

(Cleeland) “without authority despatched the goods of his monastery and

changed his vesture in this ruffling time.”[850]

The only article of the second appointment of Doncaster which the King

was inclined to observe was the promise that he would summon a council

of divines to show their learning on religious questions. They were not,

of course, permitted to discuss the royal supremacy or the other most

important points which the rebels wished to lay before them, but they

were entrusted with the revision of the Ten Articles. By 18 February

1536–7 “most part of the bishops have come [to London], but no one knows

what is to be done.”[851] The tendency of the assembly was on the whole

reactionary. The four sacraments which had been omitted from the Ten

Articles were “found again,”[852] and it was rumoured, incorrectly, that

“Our Lady is now found again, thanked be God, that was lost

before.”[853]

Another sign of conservatism was the renewed prosecution of heretics

which occurred in the early part of 1537[854]. The northern rebels had a

saying, “If you call us traitors we will call you heretics.” The reverse

of this was literally true in the heresy cases, for the accused always

retorted that his accuser had used treasonable words during the

rebellion; all the preacher’s friends swore to the treason, and all the

accuser’s friends to the heresy, and the whole countryside was filled

with quarrelling and counter-accusations.

An instance of this occurred in the neighbourhood of Ipswich. John Bale,

formerly Prior of the White Friars there, gave up his office on account

of his changed opinions, and became vicar of Thorndon. He was constantly

in trouble for his preaching, and in return accused his parishioners of

sympathy with the Lincolnshire rebels[855]. While he was accused of

heresy, the Prior of Butley, who was also Suffragan of Ipswich, was

accused of treason, as he was inconveniently reluctant to surrender his

house[856].

Bishop Latimer’s diocese of Worcester was torn by dissensions, some of

the clergy supporting their bishop, others calling him a false harlot

and a “horesone” heretic[857]. John Kene parson of Christchurch,

Bristol, despised the new preachers and condemned their doctrines. Most

of his parishioners were offended because he “prayed not for the King

four Sundays together in his chief wars against the rebellious and

traitors,” but a few were on his side, and William Glaskeryon said at

the time of the rising, “We may bless the time that we were born; they

rise to strengthen our Faith.” Another man, when he heard the rebels had

fallen, hoped that they would rise again, and said that he would join

them himself. About Candlemas seditious bills appeared on the steps of

Christchurch, Bristol, and during Lent the warden of the Grey Friars,

who was of the old way of thinking, and the Prior of the Friars

Preachers, who was of the new, preached one against the other[858].

The hopes of the reactionaries were dashed by a proclamation issued by

the King about the middle of Lent which permitted the eating of white

meats, milk, eggs, etc., during the fast[859]. This was a new source of

strife. A mariner of Brighton was accused of saying that “he could not

judge how the King should be Pope and have power to license people to

eat butter, cheese and milk in Lent”; but the justices decided that the

accusation was malicious and false[860].

The diocese of Salisbury was in much the same condition as that of

Worcester. Bishop Shaxton was a reformer, but his people were

conservative, and when the King’s dispensation was posted up in the city

of Salisbury it was immediately torn down. The Bishop’s chaplain, John

Madowell, urged the mayor to investigate the matter, and was promptly

thrown into prison[861]. He complained to Cromwell both on his own

behalf and on that of another man, who had posted a bill against the

seditious preaching of a certain friar and had been imprisoned for

it[862]. On Cromwell’s remonstrance the prisoners were reluctantly set

at liberty under surety, but the mayor defended his conduct on the

grounds that Madowell was a Scot and had used himself uncharitably and

slanderously against the corporation[863].

There was a similar breach in Kent between the Archbishop and the lower

clergy[864]. At the time of the insurrection “one Sir Davy, a priest”

quarrelled with a man called John Drewry in a tavern. The priest said

that the King was “a tyrant more cruel than Nero; for Nero destroyed but

a part of Rome but this tyrant destroyeth his whole realm.” Drewry

called him a traitor, whereupon the priest drew his dagger and chased

Drewry into the kitchen, “where my host and hostess were, he grinding of

malt and she dressing her child by the fire.” Davy wounded Drewry and

fled, thinking he had killed him. The fugitive was protected by the

commissary of Maidstone and by the curate of Headcorn[865]. In April

certain of the curate’s parishioners brought charges against him, but

the rest of the parish were so much enraged that they said “there would

be no peace till five or six of these new fellows were killed,” and kept

the accusers in terror of their lives[866].

The complete failure of the insurrection was generally known in the

south by Easter. The executions in the north and in Lincolnshire, the

King’s Lenten proclamation, and the absence of any preparations for a

parliament, showed that there was no further hope. The result of this

was two-fold, for while the timid ceased to murmur against the

government, the bolder spirits dreamed of a last effort which might

snatch a victory when all seemed lost. There were certain districts

where the disaffection was so strong that definite ideas of resistance

were entertained. It often happened that these were the places where

there was also a good deal of heresy. Sedition and heresy in fact went

hand in hand, for where one party was strong, the other was provoked

into violence.

Particular efforts were made to force the acceptance of the King’s

reforms upon the two universities. Not much is known about the attitude

of Cambridge during this period, except that the vicar of All Hallows,

who was a chaplain of the Bishop of Ely, caused much offence by the

manner in which he ministered the Sacrament, and the vicar of Caxton was

accused of giving his parishioners ale instead of wine at the mass on

Easter day[867].

There is more information about Oxford, where several royal preachers

spoke against the primacy of Rome and in favour of justification,

without obtaining much acceptance[868]. A certain John Parkyns laid

information against the Abbots of Oseney and Eynsham and against Serls,

vicar of St Peter’s in the East, Oxford, but the man seems to have been

a lunatic, as even Cromwell admitted, for he endorsed one of Parkyns’

letters “a fool of Oxford or thereabouts.”[869] Although Parkyns’ tales

cannot be credited, there are other signs that there was disaffection

both in the country and in the university. The people of Thame insisted

upon celebrating the day of St Thomas à Becket [29 December 1536].

Thomas Strebilhill said to the vicar, “Master Doctor, ye have kept a

solemn feast this day, where had ye such authority?” The vicar replied

that the people would have it so. Strebilhill persisted that within a

mile and a half there were men at work, whereupon another man said, that

“he wished their horses’ necks had been to-braste and their carts

fired.” Strebilhill remonstrated, “I think thou art one of the northern

sect; thou wouldst rule the King’s Highness and not be ruled.” In May

there was a rumour at Thame that the King would take away the church

jewels[870]. An Oxford scholar was heard to say on 19 January 1536–7

that “if the northern men should continue rebellious his Grace would be

in great danger of his life or avoid his realm before the end of

March.”[871]

About the beginning of February the Abbot of Whalley sent a letter to

“his scholar at Oxford” and to the Abbot of Hailes, of whom he said in

his message: “I would be glad to see him once more ere I departed out of

this world, seeing I brought him up here of a child.” The proctor of

Blackburn sent a letter to the scholar by the same messenger, William

Rede, a baker of Oxford. On his journey Rede spent the night at his

usual halting-place, the house of Richard Oldfelden, a schoolmaster at

Knutsford[872]. In order to be a successful schoolmaster it was

necessary to be a conservative in religion; all parents like to think

that their children are being taught what they themselves learnt when

they were young. The failure of Gervase Tyndale, the reformer, in the

profession has already been recorded[873]. Robert Richardin, another

reformer and would-be schoolmaster, was driven out of Lincolnshire by

the insurrection[874]. Oldfelden, however, was a conservative and must

have prospered, as he had a son Philip at Oriel College, Oxford, and was

thinking of sending another son there, if he could get him a place as a

butler[875]. Oldfelden asked Rede to carry a letter to Philip, and

especially charged him not to show it to any man, and to deliver it into

Philip’s own hands[876]. In this letter, among various items of family

interest, Oldfelden told his son that he would send him “a hundred

verses and more made by Roger Vernon in your brother John’s name,

concerning the insurrection in the north. Cave dicas resurrection

[beware lest thou say resurrection].” Philip might show these verses and

others which his father was sending to his master. At the end of the

letter Oldfelden was seized with caution and added that he would not

send the verses, lest the poor man who carried the letter should show

them to anyone or be searched[877]. This omission is a pity; it would

have been interesting to see the verses, which might have been preserved

with the letter, and Oldfelden’s danger could not have been increased,

as they had been mentioned. The schoolmaster’s fears were justified;

Rede spent the next night in the constable’s house at Wotton. He told

the constable that he was ill and would be glad to go back to Lancashire

if he could find anyone to deliver his Oxford letters. The constable

took the letters, opened and read them, and laid them before a

magistrate at Kenilworth Castle. He promptly imprisoned Rede who was

examined on 10 February 1536–7[878]. As he had been solemnly warned not

to part with the letters, he deserved his misfortune.

Thomas Reynton, another north country man at Oxford, corresponded with

his friends at Durham in no loyal terms. He told them that the most part

of the King’s levies were but boys, and that the people of Oxfordshire

were so weary of being summoned to musters and then countermanded “that

they say ere they rise again the King shall as soon hang them up at

their own doors.”[879] The King’s levies, and particularly the pressing

of horses, caused complaints in several places[880].

At Oxford there was opposition to the new opinions, but in the more

remote parts of England there was an obstinate adherence to the old

customs. In September 1536 John Tregonwell reported to Cromwell that the

people of Cornwall were as quiet and true to the King as any in the

realm, and rejoiced greatly “that the King has allowed the festum loci

of every church to be kept holy, at Cromwell’s intercession.”[881]

Either a special indulgence had been granted to Cornwall for a limited

time, or Tregonwell had misunderstood Cromwell’s injunctions, as not all

the church holy days were permitted. One of those which were prohibited

was the day of St Keverne [St Kevin’s day, 3 June], who was the patron

saint of a large and unruly parish in Cornwall, the first to rise in the

insurrection of 1497[882].

It is probable that the discontent which the suppression of the local

feast caused was encouraged by a copy of the Pilgrims’ oath and articles

which some Cornish soldiers had obtained at King’s Lynn, when Norfolk

disbanded his troops[883]. Early in April 1537 two fishermen of St

Keverne’s, named Carpyssacke and Treglosacke, when selling their fish at

Hamell beside Southampton, met two men who were evidently agents of the

rebellious party. They asked the Cornish men why they had not risen with

the north, and the fishermen were so much moved by their words that they

“swore upon a book to help them,” and began their preparations by buying

200 jerkins.

When the fishermen went home they directed a local painter to make a

banner for the parish of St Keverne, “in the which banner they would

have first the picture of Christ with his wounds abroad and a banner in

his hand, Our Lady on the one side holding her breast in her hand, St

John à Baptist on the other side, the King’s Grace and the Queen

kneeling, and all the commonalty kneeling, with scripture above their

heads, making their petition to the picture of Christ that it would

please the King’s Grace that they might have their holidays.”

Carpyssacke intended to display this banner on Pardon Monday, and he

expected that the people would follow it[884]. In consequence prophecies

of the King’s death and rumours of musters arose in the neighbouring

county of Devonshire[885]. The plot, however, was a very ingenuous one,

and was quickly discovered. The painter was alarmed at so dangerous a

commission, and reported the matter to a local magistrate, who wrote on

22 April to Cromwell for orders, with assurances that the whole county

was quiet and well-disposed, and that Carpyssacke was the only traitor;

nevertheless he begged that the King would permit the people to “hold

the day of the head saint of their church.”[886] He was commanded to

arrest the two fishermen and send them to London, but they had gone back

to Southampton and Treglosacke seems to have escaped altogether[887].

Carpyssacke was eventually taken and imprisoned in Cornwall. He was not

sent up to London, and there must have been some powerful influence at

work in his favour, for the justices of assize said that they had no

authority to inquire for high treason and refused to try him[888]; he is

last heard of on 28 August 1537, still uncondemned[889]. In July it was

reported that the people of Exeter were “half afraid of a privy

insurrection of Cornishmen.”[890]

These mutterings and plots are all connected with the religious

discontent, but the failure of the rebellion was also a severe

disappointment to the commons who had hoped for social reforms, and the

methods in which they vented their baffled feelings were more dangerous

than the feeble efforts of the religious.

In Somerset, although the suppression of the monastery of Clyffe[891]

caused much lamentation[892], social grievances were uppermost. The

levying of the subsidy had been stopped in several counties during the

insurrection. In April 1537 it began again, and the commissioners

inquired “whether we shall stand to the old taxation or attempt higher

sums.”[893] As the King was badly in need of money after the expenses of

the insurrection, they were probably ordered to get as much as they

could, but the exaction which provoked the rising was not the subsidy.

The outbreak was caused by a “certain commission ... to take up corn,”

apparently an exercise of the hated royal right of purveyance, due to

the King’s poverty. The commons tried to rise against the commissioners,

but were repressed by “young Mr Paulet and other great men.” Sixty

rebels were imprisoned, of whom fourteen were executed for treason, one

being a woman. The rest were pardoned[894].

It is curious that there is no reference to this attempt among the

“Letters and Papers of Henry VIII” until 13 May, after the prisoners had

been executed at Taunton. There was a rumour in the county that the King

was displeased with Thomas Horner for “his taking the men imprisoned at

Nonye”[895] and causing them to be executed at Taunton. It was said that

Horner’s life had been saved only by the intercession of Sir John St Low

and that the King said that “he had liever have given Sir John 1000

marks a year.”[896] Sir John St Low wrote to Cromwell to request that

the rumour might be contradicted and its authors punished, as it was

greatly to Horner’s detriment[897]. It is unlikely that Henry took any

active measures to suppress the story, as he encouraged the popular view

of his character, upon which it was based, that he was a good-natured

but careless man, who left too much to his agents, but was shocked and

grieved when his attention was called to their severity.

It is interesting to notice the previous history of Somerset. The

peasants of the shire had risen in the great revolt of 1381. In the

fifteenth century lollardy was widely diffused there. Without entering

into the vexed question as to how long lollardy survived as a

creed[898], it may be remarked that the lollards of 1447 were nearer in

point of time to the men of 1537 than John Wesley is to our own time,

and it is possible that their influence may have lasted as his has done.

It is still more interesting to trace the history of revolt in Norfolk

and Suffolk. In 1381, under the vigorous rule of Bishop Spencer, these

counties were considered the most orthodox in England[899]. Nevertheless

the peasants’ revolt there in that year was exceedingly violent and

unusually well organised. Its objects were purely social, and many

parish priests and chaplains were with the insurgents, still the

monasteries were savagely attacked, not on religious grounds, but

because their tenants felt themselves oppressed[900]. The hatred of the

monks was so strong that it is surprising that their fall 150 years

later should have excited any regret, but the changed feeling of the

people is accounted for by the changed social conditions. The

monasteries were above everything conservative. In 1381, after the great

catastrophe of the Black Death, they insisted on exacting the old dues,

which had become oppressive, and in paying the old wages, which were

inadequate. The peasants in consequence wanted to force their lords to

move with the times. In Henry VIII’s reign, on the contrary, it was the

lords who were moving faster than the peasants liked. The monasteries

became popular because they still practised the old hospitality, and to

some extent cultivated the land in the old way.

After the death of fighting Bishop Spencer, lollardy spread rapidly

through East Anglia; the large lollard communities there underwent

vigorous persecution in 1428[901]. Social discontent, more than

religious conservatism, caused the commons of this region to meditate a

rising in 1537, and the rebels of 1549 definitely professed themselves

to be protestants[902]. Yet the first suggestion of a revolt was

connected with the suppression of Buckenham Priory. As three men were

riding home from Stone Fair on 1 August 1536 [Lammas Day], one of them,

Hugh Wilkinson, said to the other two: “Let us go home, for now are the

visitors in putting down of our house. And if ye will do after me, I

have here an angel noble in my purse that never did me good, and that

shall ye have between you, if ye will come in the evening and kill them

in their beds, for I know the gates of every door, so that I shall let

you into every chamber. And when ye have done ye may soon be out of the

way for the wood is at hand. And when they be in their beds ye shall be

sure that they have no weapon at hand to defend themselves withal. And

if I had no more to lose than one of you hath, it should be the first

deed I should do.” But the two others refused the rather inadequate

bribe[903].

Later in the year 1536 there were disturbances in Norfolk which were

suppressed by the Duke of Norfolk[904]. When the Lincolnshire rebellion

broke out there was much anxiety lest it should spread to Norfolk, and

this was prevented only by prompt and severe measures[905].

In November copies of the Yorkshire oath and manifesto appeared at

King’s Lynn and Walsingham[906] and murmurs were heard of an intended

rising[907]. The great shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham was naturally a

centre for all the rumours of the country. One of the priests, Henry

Manser, was accused of having discussed the rebellion with some

Lincolnshire pilgrims to the shrine on 7 December 1536; in the course of

the conversation they had regretted that Norfolk and Suffolk had not

risen at the same time as Lincolnshire, for then the rebels “would have

gone through the kingdom.” The way in which the conversation was

revealed is rather suspicious. In June 1537 the priest caused “a sore

and a diseased” beggar to be turned out of Our Lady’s Chapel and set in

the stocks. The beggar in revenge accused the priest of the treasonable

conversation which he asserted that he had overheard[908].

Information was laid on 15 February against John Hogon, a fiddler, who

went about Norfolk and the neighbouring counties singing seditious

songs[909]. During Lent Harry Jervyse of Fincham said that he wished the

Yorkshire men had prospered, for then “the holydays that were put down

should be restored again,” and after Easter he rebuked some of his

friends, saying that if they had been ruled by him he would have cried

“Fire!” at mass time at the house of John Fincham, the principal

gentleman; when he ran out they might have taken him, and if he would

not be ruled by them “they would make a cart way betwixt his head and

his shoulder.” Jervyse also urged his friends to ring the bells in every

town to raise the commons[910].

The suppression of the monasteries and the levying of the subsidy were

suspended in Norfolk during the rebellion, but on 6 January 1536–7 the

Duke of Norfolk recommended that the commissioners should begin their

work again[911]. One of the collectors went to John Cokke, a worsted

weaver of Norwich, for his payment during Lent. Cokke was accused of

saying, in reply to the collector’s demand: “I cannot pay for I can sell

no worsted, wherefore I see no remedy without poor men do rise.” Cokke

denied having said the words, unless he was drunk at the time[912].

After Easter a plot for a rising began to be discussed at Walsingham

Priory. The chief mover was Ralph Rogerson, a singing man of the Priory.

Nicholas Myleham the sub-prior was also accused of taking part in the

conspiracy, but there was little evidence against him[913]. About the

middle of April Rogerson discussed the state of the nation with his

friend George Guisborough. Guisborough said that “he thought it very

evil done for the suppressing of so many religious houses, where God was

well served and many other good deeds of charity done.” Rogerson agreed

and said that the living of poor men went away with the abbeys, for now

the gentlemen had all the farms and cattle of the country in their

hands. They decided that “some men must step to and resist them,” and

they resolved that they would raise a company by firing some beacon and

go to the King to complain. They appointed St Helen’s Day, 21 May, as

the date on which to proclaim their intentions; the mustering place was

to be Shepcotes Heath, and meanwhile they sounded their friends on the

subject[914].

It is difficult to judge of their success, as Guisborough was honourably

reluctant to accuse others, and Rogerson’s confession has not been

preserved, but the conspirators held several meetings. On one occasion

they made use of the opportunity offered “at a game of shooting of the

flyte and standard” at Benham, where they held a consultation[915].

Their fully developed plan was to assemble the people in the night, fire

the beacons on the coast, and cause the head constables and under

constables of the hundreds to summon the musters. Then the rebels would

kill and plunder all who resisted them, seize Brandon Ferry and Brandon

Bridge in order to cut off communications with London, and march to help

the northern men.

Unfortunately for themselves, they admitted into their secret John

Galant, a servant of Sir John Heydon. In spite of their threats that

they would kill anyone who betrayed them, this man informed his master

of the plot on 26 April. Sir John immediately sent the news to London

and arrested George Guisborough and his son William, who was in the

plot[916]. The rest of the conspirators were taken on 30 April[917], and

orders were sent down on 8 May that the offenders were to be executed

without sparing[918].

The social discontent was strong in Suffolk, although it did not

culminate in an organised conspiracy. On May day there was a May game at

some place in Suffolk, “which play was of a king how he should rule his

realm, in which one played Husbandry and said many things against

gentlemen more than was in the book of the play.”[919] After the games

Husbandry prudently disappeared and could not be found[920].

On 11 May Richard Bushop of Bungay had a long conversation with Robert

Seyman in Tyndale Wood, Suffolk. Bushop asked, “What tidings hear you?

Have you any musters about you?” Seyman replied no, and asked if there

were any at Bungay. Bushop complained that it was a hard world for poor

men, and when Seyman agreed, he went on: “Methinketh ye seem to be an

honest man, such a one as a man may trust to open his mind unto. We are

used under such fashion now a days as it hath not been seen, for if

three or four of us be communing together the constables will examine

what communication [we have] and stock us if we will not tell them: good

fellows would not be so used long if one would be true to another. And

as I have heard, now lately at Walsingham the people had risen if one

person had not been; and as I hear some of them now be in Norwich

Castle, and other be sent to London.... If two men have communication

together, a man may go back on his word as long as no third man is

there; three may keep counsel if two be away.”[921] Bushop offered to

show Seyman a prophecy “which one man had watched in the night to copy.”

In it the King was called a mole who should be put down this year or

never[922]; also “There should land at Walborne Hope the proudest prince

in all Christendom, and so shall come to Mousehold Heath, and there

should meet with two other kings and shall fight and shall be put down,

and the white lion should obtain.” Bushop had been told that the Earl of

Derby had rebelled, and that the Duke of Norfolk was so beset in the

north that he could not escape[923]. The man must have been drunk to run

on like this to a stranger. He paid a heavy price for his folly. Seyman

informed against him, and Bushop was forced, probably by torture, to

confess his words, and was then executed. It seems that Seyman shared

his fate[924]. It is rather surprising that Cromwell was able to find

such a number of informers, considering that they were occasionally

imprisoned and hanged with the guilty person.

The disaffection in East Anglia was due to the subsidy, the bad state of

the cloth trade, the government espionage, and particularly to the

aggressions of the gentlemen. In spite of its connection with Walsingham

Priory the religious motive was not strong. The conspirators objected to

the suppression of the monasteries partly because their almsgiving

ceased, but chiefly because the confiscated lands went to increase the

wealth and influence of their chief enemies, the country gentlemen. The

prisoners at Norwich were heard to say that “if any great man had two

dishes on his table, they would have had the one if they had gone

forward with their business.”[925]

The evidence from Aylesham is still more clear. This town was quite a

centre of heresy, but it was also a centre of sedition. About the

beginning of May seven persons were accused of heretical speeches. One

case was very singular. Thomas Rooper “set up in the town of Aylesham a

cross of wood whereon was made the image of the Pope with his three

crowns, gilded, and a cardinal, which was gilded by John Swan of

Aylesham and Simon Cressy the carver and setter up thereof.” It is

difficult to deduce the religious belief of the designer of this curious

symbol. Two persons said that they knew a hundred traitors in Aylesham,

which is perhaps partly explained by the conduct of four other men who

“reported that there was an Act of Parliament made that if their church

lands were not sold before May Day the King would have it; whereupon

they sold it to defeat the King thereof, and have converted the money

coming of the sale thereof to their own use.” They tried to get hold of

the church jewels also, but the churchwardens refused to give them up,

saying “if the King wished to have it he was most worthy.” Again the

thieves’ religious convictions cannot be deduced from their action; the

devout stole church property to prevent the sacrilege of its falling

into the King’s hands, the reformers did the same to prevent

idolatry[926].

There can be no doubt about the opinions of Elizabeth Wood of Aylesham,

who on 12 May said to John Dix, tailor, as she was leaning upon his shop

window, “It is pity that these Walsingham men were discovered, for we

shall have never good world till we fall together by the ears:

And with clubs and clouted shoon

Shall the deed be done,

For we had never good world

Since this King reigned.

It is pity that he ’filed

Any clouts more than one.”[927]

She was singing or saying an old rhyme which played its part in the

later Norfolk rising[928].

Twenty-five men were imprisoned at Norwich for the Walsingham plot[929].

According to the report of some prisoners, Rogerson and George

Guisborough thought of accusing several others who had known their

plans, especially “a rich gentleman” who had promised them six or seven

score sheep, and had said they should not lack sheep as long as he had

any. They had even written out their accusation, when William

Guisborough, George’s son, remonstrated with them, saying, “Father,

there is no remedy but death with us, and for us to put any more in

danger, it were pity.” His gentleness touched the others and they tore

up the paper. Several of the prisoners gave evidence that they had seen

pieces of paper “as small as pence or two pence” flying about; one had

seen a fragment “about the breadth of a groat ... stamped in the water

by James Biggis, his fellow that he was coupled unto.”[930] Five

prisoners were prepared to give the names of those whom they had heard

Rogerson mention as his fellow-conspirators, but others whom they named

as witnesses declared that they had never heard Rogerson speak in the

prison. They were in a different house from him, and saw the other

prisoners only occasionally from a distance in the chapel. All the

accused denied absolutely that they knew anything about the plot[931].

The conspirators were tried on Friday 25 May 1537. Twelve were condemned

to execution, three to perpetual imprisonment, two were remanded to

prison without judgment, and the other eight were pardoned. Rogerson and

four others were executed at Norwich next day. On the scaffold a most

unusual incident occurred; Rogerson attempted to address to the crowd a

justification of his conduct. He was cut short by the executioner[932].

This gives one reason why the last words of the condemned at this period

are nearly always said to have been a confession of the crime, an

acknowledgment of the impartiality of their trial, and a humble apology.

If the criminal attempted to say anything inconvenient he was promptly

silenced for ever. Two more of the prisoners were executed at Yarmouth

on Monday 28 May, George Guisborough and Nicholas Mileham suffered at

Walsingham on 30 May, and William Guisborough and another at Lynn on

Friday 1 June. The twelfth man seems to have been spared[933].

After the executions at Norwich two men of Houghton juxta Harpley were

discussing the news. One of them, Thomas Westwood, had been sent to ask

the other, Thomas Wright a carpenter, to come and work for his master.

Westwood remarked that the wife of one of the traitors fell down in a

swoon when her husband was executed, and lay so for an hour, but her

husband had as he deserved. Wright was accused of answering, “They that

did for the commonwealth were hanged up.”[934]

The state of England cannot be considered healthy or happy when such an

unscrupulous watch was exercised over every careless word and every

expression of ordinary humanity, but it is a good sign that this spying

was deeply resented by the people themselves. The monks of Lenton Abbey,

Notts, talking together at Easter, said: “It is a marvellous world, for

the King will hang a man for a word speaking nowadays,” to which another

replied, “Yea, but the King of Heaven will not do so, and He is King of

all kings; but he that hangs a man in this world for a word speaking, he

shall be hanged in another world his self.”[935] These sentiments were

very natural, but they provoke the reflection that it was the Church

which had taught the King that a man otherwise blameless might be put to

death “for a word speaking” or for holding heretical opinions. For

centuries Church and State had played into one another’s hands. So long

as the clergy felt certain that the heretics whom they condemned and

“relaxed to the secular arm” would be burnt, they were ready to teach

that obedience to the King was a duty second only to obedience to the

Church, and they blessed with their approval and imitation the barbarous

penalties for treason. Now that the age-long alliance was broken, they

were shocked and indignant to find themselves suffering the fate that

they had complacently inflicted on others.

NOTES TO CHAPTER XIX

Note A.

Pacem emit armorum precio

O quam letus dolor in tristi gaudio

Grex respirat pastore mortuo

Plangens plaudit mater in filio

Quia vivit victor sub gladio.

Then follow rubrics with the beginnings of versicles:—

_Versus_—Justus igitur ...

_Collecta_—Deus per cujus ...

_Capitulum_(?)—gloriosus pontifex ...

Note B. It is interesting to observe that Anne Askew, the protestant

martyr of 1545, was the daughter of Sir William Askew, one of the

commissioners who helped to check the Lincolnshire rebellion. She became

the wife of Thomas Kyme of Kelsey, whom she was forced to marry although

he was devoted to the old religion[936]. He must have belonged to the

same family as Guy Kyme, which would make his relations with his wife

still more difficult.

Note C. One of Sir John Bulmer’s papers, seized after his arrest, was a

letter from his sister-in-law Anne, the wife of Sir Ralph Bulmer[937].

The writer referred to a message which she had sent to Sir John by his

servant Blenkinsop. She mentioned her “brothers” Richard Bowes and Harry

Wycliff, but as she was one of the two daughters and co-heirs of Roger

Aske of Aske, she had no brothers by blood[938]. Richard Bowes was her

brother-in-law, the husband of her sister Elizabeth. Harry Wycliff may

have been her step-brother or even her foster-brother. He was accused on

30 March 1537 of inciting the commons to rescue Anthony Peacock, the

Richmondshire rebel[939]. The letter from Anne Bulmer is dated Easter

day, but without the year. She says that she has received letters from

Sir John on Good Friday, and that she and her two “brothers” have

arranged that her husband Sir Ralph shall meet Sir John at Northallerton

on Easter Tuesday in order to arrange some business over which,

apparently, Sir John and Sir Ralph had quarrelled. The nature of the

business is not stated.

This may be the treasonable letter that Blenkinsop brought, but it does

not bear any outward trace of treason. In fact, if its date was Easter

1537, it is rather evidence for than against Sir John, as it indicates

that, so far from plotting a rising, he was busy with private affairs.

But the government lawyers were quite unscrupulous in their use of

documents, as for instance in the case of the Abbot of Sawley’s

supplication. They may have forced a treasonable interpretation upon the

innocent letter, or it is possible that the business alluded to may not

have been as harmless as it appears. In the absence of a date it is

impossible to discover the true importance of the letter. It may have

been written at some other Easter years before.

Note D. Froude made up his mind that the Marquis of Exeter must have

encouraged the Cornish rising, and in consequence of this preconceived

opinion he jumbled together several documents without any regard for

their dates. First he described the ordering of the banner by the

Cornish fishermen, but assigned the intended display of it to the year

1538. In a note he admitted that this date was inconsistent with the

fact that “the queen” was to be painted on the banner, as Henry in 1538

was a widower, but Froude explained this by saying that the banner was

ordered in the summer of 1537, but the painter delayed his information

until 1538; in order to fit in with his theory the insurgents must have

ordered their banner a year before they meant to use it.

The passage continues, “At length particular information was given in,

which connected itself with the affair at St Keverne. It was stated

distinctly that two Cornish gentlemen named Kendall and Quyntrell had

for some time past been secretly employed in engaging men who were to be

ready to rise at an hour’s warning.” The implication is that the

machinations of the two gentlemen were discovered in 1538, in

consequence of the exposure of the Cornish plot; yet the evidence quoted

in a foot-note sufficiently contradicts this, for it was a report

addressed to Cromwell that Kendall and Quyntrell had told many people

that “Henry Marquis of Exeter ... would be king, if the King’s Highness

proceeded to marry the Lady Anne Boleyn, or else it should cost a

thousand men’s lives.” This discrepancy passed unnoticed by Froude[940].

The conspiracy of Kendall and Quyntrell, in fact, took place and was

discovered in 1531, when Exeter was banished from court for some time on

account of its discovery[941]. It had nothing to do with the present

agitation in Cornwall, and there is not the smallest reason to connect

the Marquis of Exeter with this later movement.

Note E. This was a favourite proverb of the King’s: “‘Well then,’ quoth

the King, ‘Let me alone, and keep this gear secret between yourself and

me, and let no man be privy thereof: for if I hear any more of it, then

I know by whom it came to knowledge. Three may,’ quoth he, ‘keep

counsel, if two be away; and if I thought that my cap knew my counsel I

would cast it into the fire and burn it.’”[942]